The Attraction Equation
by seven days later
Summary: It's Valentine's Day and there's something that Charlie wants to give Amita...


**The Love Equation**

His arms ached from the constant rapid movement of the chalk and the rearranging of the heavy chalkboards. His head ached too, partially because of the hit he took from boards number two and five, but mostly from the stress he was placing himself under.

The youngest Eppes knew that some problems were unsolvable; impossible even. But, nevertheless, he found the same one running through his head day after day, night after sleepless night and he knew it had to be expressed, in whatever form it takes.

Eight characters, three words, one statement. It was a branch of his cognitive emergence theory, and it was so utterly fascinating that he hadn't thought of anything else for months. He'd weighted countless probabilities, quantified life, death and everything in between all in a day's work at the FBI. As soon as it reached closer to home, though, he was in trouble.

He'd been working for two days and three nights now and even the impolite morning birdsong didn't distract him from his goal. He needed this to form a simplistic equation. But, he was sure he had made an error. There was an anomaly in his research. He had distilled the whole product of two days and three nights down to a simplistic value.

Probabilistically, it was impossible that he had made a mistake, but his work was for today – he could not go back over all of it now and find anything which could account for the mess up. It couldn't be rescheduled again, not before the time came to apply it.

The door to the garage gently opened, and Amita backed in, holding two cups of coffee in front of her and concentrating very hard on not spilling them. Charlie stared at her for a moment, and angled his board away from her, lest she see his work.

"Alan said that you've been in here for the best part of three days and to his knowledge, haven't slept." She crossed the room towards her former professor, and present friend. "What are you working on?"

"My cognitive emergence theory." He half lied, making Amita raise an eyebrow.

"Is it for Don? Is that why you can't let me help?" Charlie shook his head, dismissively.

"No, you have clearance for that."

"Then what is it Charlie?" She half laughed. "Careful! It's hot." She warned as Charlie took a large gulp of the coffee, and choked in surprise.

"Ouch. It's nothing though, seriously. It's an anomaly."

"Come on, Charlie. Maybe I can help, then."

"You can't." Amita's brow contracted sharply, and she looked stung by his sharp comment.

"Fine. At least tell me why you're acting so weird. I don't think I've seen you this agitated since... ever." Amita moved closer and placed a gentle hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Whatever it is, you can tell me." The professor wrung his hands awkwardly. He seemed apprehensive; eyes darting around between all of the chalkboards, sporting barely legible equations and roughly assigned values.

"I've been working on a present for someone." He muttered. It was intended only to be half heard, but he didn't count on Amita's admirable height of hearing.

"Who?"

"You, actually." She frowned, taken aback.

"Charlie, my birthday's in May." Charlie nodded.

"I know."

"It's only February."

"It's not for your birthday." Amita considered his words for a moment, and then her beautiful face split into a smile.

"You're giving me a Valentine's Day gift?" She giggled, like a giddy schoolgirl. "Is it ready yet?"

"Yes, I've finished. At least I think that I've finished." He rambled, uncertainly. "But I believe that I have made an error. You see, it's a single inequative value, Amita!" He chuckled, humourlessly. "That's impossible." Amita shrugged, sipping her coffee.

"Oh well. If it's a gift, give it to me." She smiled, brightly.

"You don't mind that it's wrong?" He asked, confused. She laughed, and shook her head, her hair swirling around her face. Even her hair looked optimistic and happy.

"It's the thought that counts, Professor Eppes." Charlie took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "According to my calculations," Her looked her straight in the eye, making her smiled fade out at how serious his chocolate brown eyes had become. The tense atmosphere was making her uncomfortable. "I... I less than three you." She stared at him for a full moment before grinning widely.

"I don't believe you." She nodded, disbelievingly. "Lemme see the math, Charlie." He spun around the chalkboard, so she could see what was on it. "My God. You seriously got less than three." Charlie shrugged, his mouth being tugged into a reluctant smile. He looked almost sheepishly at her, wondering if her smile was genuine or mocking.

"It's all there." She tore her eyes away from the complicated mathematics which even she was having trouble understanding. "It's in the math, Amita."

"So that's us. On a chalkboard." She said, quietly.

"I think so. As I said, I'm not even one hundred percent positive that it is correct, or even if the values assigned-"Amita pulled him sharply into a tight embrace, in the middle of his explanation.

"Oh, Charlie!" Not entirely sure what to make of this – for women tended not to throw themselves onto him often – Charlie placed his hands lightly on her back, utterly bewildered.

"Okay." She pulled back, eyes bright and glistening with emotion.

"Charlie, I less than three you too!" She whispered softly, before placing her lips softly but firmly on his.

Neither mathematician could remember ever being that happy about math. And that was saying something – for both of them.

Looking back on that day, Amita knew she wouldn't forget it. Maybe the equations and the calculations and the small illegible squiggles had been wiped off those boards, but the memory remained. It remained even when they were coping with the stress of their marriage, and Amita's first pregnancy, through to her third. It helped them through the times when the caterer had been double booked and when Amita had to rush out of her own lectures because baby Margaret decided that she was going to use her mother's bladder as a squeeze toy.

And all of these years later, long after their professional and physical peak in their life and the same value applied to how they felt about one another. Because while convicts, thieves and conmen change their strategies and targets over time, there's some math that stays constant for a lifetime.


End file.
